


Yearning

by annascathach



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Play, Autumn, Bondage, Community: samhain_smut, Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex, Power Play, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annascathach/pseuds/annascathach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight was all about taking chances. Old wives' tales claimed that young people often found their mates at solstice celebrations. What better way to meet than around a bonfire, a strong beverage in hand? Written for Samhain Smut 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Yearning  
> Author: lyre_flowers // Anna Scathach  
> Prompt # 38  
> Pairing(s)/Character(s): Ron/Astoria  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Summary: Tonight was all about taking chances. Old wives' tales claimed that young people often found their mates at solstice celebrations. What better way to meet than around a bonfire, a strong beverage in hand?  
> Word Count: 2581  
> Warnings/Content: Oral sex, public sex (outdoors), anal play, dirty talk, bondage, power play.  
> Disclaimer: Nothing's mine but the smut.  
> Author's notes: Thanks to the person who wrote this lovely prompt, to my beta and of course to our amazing mod, ragdoll!

It was Samhain again. This year, Ron Weasley had decided to celebrate it at the traditional Hogsmeade bonfire.

Tonight, he thought, stars were twinkling at him like Dumbledore at the best of times. Merlin, good old Dumbledore. He drank a sip of his drink in remembrance, but, to be fair, there had been many sips of his drink before, and many less warranted than this one. He didn't need a reason to drink, after all. It was Samhain. Samhain meant gratuitous drinking, celebrating, having fun.

And no Hermione to be seen, who'd certainly not approve (neither would his Mum), this being his tenth Firewhisky in a row. Ron decided that he didn't care. The night was young, the witches were pretty, Firewhisky was happily sloshing away in his belly. It didn't get much better than this.

Drink firmly in hand, he turned to loIok at the bonfire. It was pretty, he thought, all burning flames and crackling wood. Samhain bonfires always felt vivid, but none had ever felt so alive before. So real. Alive like the flames in his belly and the flames in his glass. Ah, well, he'd take another sip, by Morgana.

Several rows of dancers merrily hopped around the fire. Sometimes, they also jumped over it, helped by brooms and strategically placed charms. Nobody did want to end up like poor Gideon MacDougal had three years prior. The old wizard had, armed with liquid courage, dared jump without any magical help. He'd ended up with severe burns in less than ideal places. Ron had heard rumours that poor Gideon hadn't been able to sit for weeks.

He shuddered. None of that nonsense for him, thank you very much. Although he admittedly enjoyed watching the more traditional festivities, he preferred to remain an observer only. Observing was less dangerous, and much more amusing. That, however, was due to the Firewhisky he consumed, he supposed, taking another large gulp.

A few minutes went by, and Ron continued his careful watch. The flames burned higher and higher into the night sky, reaching for the stars in their gleaming intensity. Most of the dancing had stopped. People were talking, drinking, and those who hadn't brought a convenient partner were flirting unabashedly.

Ron grinned. Ah, the joys of solstice celebrations. They held their own magic. Magic that was the reason the Wizarding population never declined, that women were surprisingly fertile and that magical children continued to populate Britain. This magic was arcane, feral, and the true reason he'd sought out the Samhain bonfire in Hogsmeade tonight.

Tonight was all about taking chances. Old wives' tales claimed that young people often found their mates at solstice. What better way to meet than around a bonfire, a strong beverage in hand? And even if that proved to be untrue, well, it had been a long time since Ron had met anyone.

Since his split from Hermione a few months ago, he'd certainly not been lonely. Yet, when he had looked at happy couples in parks, on the street, even around the office, he had felt that steady pang of jealousy that accompanied long solo stints. He took another sip of Firewhisky. Merlin, he'd be overjoyed to find a woman who didn't think he was damaged goods after dating Hermione Granger, who wasn't afraid of him because he was Harry Potter's best friend, who didn't take him for a simpleton.

Ronald Weasley wanted a woman tonight, her smile, her laugh, her long hair floating in the breeze. He would get more than he had bargained for.

When he approached the Three Broomsticks for another drink – the fire was hot and the night still young, he justified himself – he bumped into his sister Ginny and Draco Malfoy. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend of almost three years even, and in the meantime, tempers had cooled off. After one particularly spirited night out with the boys and spectacular hangovers the next day, Ron and Draco had become surprisingly good friends. They met up occasionally, at the Burrow or at Hogsmeade's Three Broomsticks.

“Hey Ron,” Ginny called.

“'lo, Gin,” Ron said. “The both of you up for another drink?”

Their nods happily affirming, he pushed through the crowd to the bar. Once he had got three glasses of Firewhisky, the three of them headed back to the bonfire.

Or at least tried to. There were so many people around them that after taking a quick sip of Firewhisky, Ron had lost them in the crowd. Then he saw her.

She was pretty. And pretty in a way Hermione wasn't, Ron thought. Brown hair was fine, brown eyes were too – but this lovely creature of long flowing locks and blue eyes was a vision to behold. Merlin, her body in that dress was divine. 

For a split second, Ron wondered if it was the alcohol talking, the fire, the arcane magic, and then remembered it didn't matter. Samhain magic was special. Summoning his courage, he walked up to the girl that was now animatedly chatting with the couple he'd lost track of not so long ago.

“There you are,” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” Draco said drily, “here we are.”

“And this,” Ginny added, “is Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's sister. You do remember Daphne, don't you? Astoria, this is my brother Ron.”

The blond girl turned to smile at him. “Hey.”

“'lo,” Ron said, and took another gulp of Firewhisky. Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes.

Fire on her hair, in her eyes, fire crackling between them, in words they would never speak. Their silence spoke louder than words, their eyes fixed on each other. Ron found he couldn't look away or even avert his gaze to anything else – her legs, her hands, her breasts – nothing, his eyes stayed firmly fixed on her smouldering gaze.

Ginny laughed, grasping Draco's hand. “Come on, darling, we're not needed here.”

After a quick look at Ron's and Astoria's faces, Draco nodded and the both of them left.

Ron barely noticed. He couldn't seem to stop staring. To break out of his stupor, he tried taking another sip of whisky, but there was no liquid left. He mutely let his arm drop. A gesture of defeat.

A gesture of defeat, although this moment felt nothing like defeat. It felt like victory, the biggest victory there was, like Merlin winning against the Romans, like a Cursebreaker unlocking an Egyptian tomb. It felt _glorious_. Wonderful.

With a smile and a shake of her head, their stares finally broke. Astoria offered Ron her cup.

“Here, take it,” she said.

He could only nod.

“We'll share,” she said.

He nodded and gingerly took the proffered cup from her hand. When his fingers accidentally grazed hers, it felt like sparks. Ron thought he saw the bonfire's flames spike higher (or was that the Firewhisky he'd just downed quickly?).

Seizing the opportunity, he took her still-outstretched hand without hesitation.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don't worry about it,” she replied. She seemed so utterly at ease that Ron couldn't help but wonder if she had felt the same fire he had. Or had she done this before, perhaps?

None of his questions mattered, in any case, once she continued to speak. “It's Samhain after all. Samhain, the day we're supposed to share.”

“Share our Firewhisky?” he asked, laughing.

“Well, that too,” she said. “Firewhisky, dance, fire. And magic, if you want.”

While she spoke, he looked into her eyes again. They were bright and earnest in the dim light, illuminated only by the stars and the flickering fire.

Astoria's eyes were bright and earnest – and _innocent_?

“Come with me?” she asked him.

Her blue eyes were wide open, gazing upwards, her head tilted towards him. Blond hair, blue eyes and that smile, she was the very picture of innocence. But the Firewhisky told Ron her question was far from innocent. This was the ritual question asked on solstice nights. The one people asked when they had found the kind of arcane magic Ron had thought were fairy tales.

Yet, he felt the pull. Hadn't he felt the fire, the fascination of her eyes? Hadn't he felt the burning in his entire body, the tingling and yearning? And hadn't he – gulp – thought her incredibly beautiful?

His heart was pounding furiously. “Astoria, I -”

“Shh,” she quieted him. “There's no need to talk. Follow me.”

After Ron had nodded his acknowledgement, a muttered spell silenced him temporarily. Then she took him by the hand and led him away from the dying fire, the chatting groups and the dancing couples.

They didn't go far. It was only a few paces from the fire that she led him into the woods, behind a tree, where they could still see the festivities, could still hear the fire crackling.

Never letting go of his hand, Astoria pushed Ron up against an old oak. She was close. _So close._ He could feel the yearning in his whole body. It made him want to kiss her, but she stayed too far, always dancing out of reach.

He could feel her running her hands over his clothes. Over his body.

“You like that, huh?” she whispered. “You like that very much, I bet.”

Who was this girl? His body felt as if on fire, her hands busily undressing him. She took off his shirt, almost lovingly, then threw it to the ground. She pinched his nipples, twisted them, until he took in a tortured breath. Coming closer, she pushed her hips up against him, grinding and undulating.

Merlin, the pressure was divine, yet not enough, and the sting her fingers had left on his nipples made him long for more. Then her teeth were upon him, scraping and pulling, biting at his nipples and nibbling on his neck – while her hands, _oh her talented little hands_ worked on his belt and grabbed his cock.

“You like that, huh?” she whispered, breath cold against his burning skin. “You want my hands on you, I bet. My hands on your cock, Ronald Weasley?”

Cruel Circe, how he yearned for her hands on his cock and her teeth on his nipples. He wanted her to touch him, and wanted to tell her, desperately, but he couldn't. He could only grasp her arms in his, caressing her shoulders, and will her to please decide. _Please. Fast._

Another muttered spell bound his arms to the tree, stretched above his head. Ron tried to look at her, to convey his need, his immediate need for her to do something, anything – now- but she wouldn't look. Instead, she looked at his newly exposed cock (he hadn't even noticed his pants had come off).

Hunger in her eyes, she licked her lips and grabbed his hips in both hands.

“You better hold still, boy. You better be real still, real quiet or else everybody over there at this little village bonfire will know you were at my mercy tonight. You better be still, and not move.”

When he didn't react but for an involuntary shudder and a twitch of his cock at the possibility of being discovered, she added: “Good boy. You are such a good boy. Should I reward you, I wonder?”

That was when, her hands still grasping his hips, Astoria's lips descended upon his cock. First she licked the tip, slowly, deliberately, as if hesitating. Her breath, her tongue, her lips, all made him want her more. He wanted his cock inside her. Now.

Her fingers caressing his balls, she licked his entire length. Then finally she took mercy on him, sucking his cock into her mouth. She was warm and wet and firm. And eager. His legs shook with the intensity of it when her teeth (accidentally?) scraped his foreskin.

Looking down, he could see her blond head bobbing. Even sucking him off – and masterfully, Merlin knew – she still managed to look innocent. It turned him on more, knowing that she was doing this willingly, doing this for him. That he was at her mercy, tied to a tree where people could see, could hear.

Her movements became faster and faster, and he thought he couldn't take the pleasure of it all. Ron would have shouted, would have moaned, would have tangled his hands in her hair, but he couldn't. He could only feel the pleasure building and building with each stroke of her hot mouth, with each lick of her tongue and each tug on his balls.

Her nails dug into his thighs, scraping and grazing until he was sure she had drawn blood. Circe, it felt so good. Pleasure was burning, he yearned for release, for her, to bury his face in her cunt and make her quiver with desire. To make her burn for him right to the very edge and then plunge into her to feel her walls clenching around his cock as she came. 

Ron's legs were shaking. He couldn't help but thrust into her waiting mouth, a little, despite her hands holding him down.

Breaking away, she said. “No. Stop. You've been bad, you've been naughty. Didn't I tell you _not_ to move?”

His only reply was another twitch of his cock, desperately yearning for her. He would have done anything she asked to burn again, to burn as high as just a few moments before when he had been close. So close.

Looking him into the eye, Astoria licked her index finger. She licked it slowly, suggestively.

“I wonder what I shall do with you, boy. You deserve your punishment, don't you agree?”

Ron nodded. Oh yes, he deserved every punishment this wicked witch could think up, every touch, every burn.

Her eyes gleamed in the darkness. “You shall see. I shall make you yearn for release, shall make you beg for it, need it. And then I will make you come like never before. You will come, and it will feel like liquid fire in your veins because it is Samhain. You will come all over my face, all over me, and I will taste you.”

Taking his cock into her mouth again, she pressed her finger up against his ass and pushed in. Morgana! It hurt, but her mouth on his cock made him quickly forget the burning sensation. When she started moving and twisting her finger, licking his cock and pulling at his foreskin, he thought he would explode from the intensity.

Astoria gazing up at him. Her mouth, lips, teeth on his cock. Her finger moving in his ass, hitting – ah – sometimes the right spot, burning sometimes. The fire, the people, his forced silence. And that hot mouth, insistently moving, sucking, licking, hot wet hard burning he yearned for it could feel the pleasure building higher building growing faster harder hurting burning ah Merlin ah ah he could feel it approaching her eyes looking up at him one lick of her tongue so good so good so hot

then he felt the wave of pleasure intense hot washing over him he was coming coming coming and she tore her lips from his cock his come splattering her face her tongue lapping at his come his come he was coming and she was so hot so hot burning and he was burning up too and the pleasure felt as if it would never stop.


End file.
